Encounter With A Cutlass
by NoNessa
Summary: After an exhausting steeple chase through Le Havre, Porthos runs into a mysterious, cutlass-wielding stranger. Things get interesting for him and the other Musketeers from there. - One-shot in response to a word prompt challenge.


_This story is another one-shot, in response to The Musketeers BBC UK's "Saturday Story" challenge. The challenge theme was "Pirates". This is my first shot at writing anything remotely pirate-y. I hope you like it and will enjoy the read! And please, feel free to let me know what you think. :)  
You will find the list words to be included in the notes below so you can check whether I have used them all! ;)_

 _Disclaimer: The Musketeers and its characters belong to the BBC. No copyright infringement is intended. I only lay claim on the OC I have created for this story._

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 ** Encounter With A Cutlass **

_A Musketeers fanfiction by NoNessa_

The nighttime sea rolled to shore in small, even waves. One by one they broke on the moonlit quay, beating a steady rhythm that was only broken by the wraithlike noise of flags and sails rippling in the breeze. Porthos stopped to breathe in the salty ocean air. For a moment, he considered staying out here until morning to marvel at the score of mighty galleons having cast anchor here at Le Havre. He and his three fellow Musketeers would not return to Paris before morning.

They had been here all day, chasing after the rumour that a stolen cache of gold from the royal treasury had become pirate loot. As expected, the rumour had been a big hoax. Although they had rifled through the bellies of suspicious cargo ships with the persistence of woodworms, not one piece of the king's missing gold had turned up. It would have been a miracle to run into a pirate ship in this port. No self-respecting seafarer would be audacious enough to fly a Jolly Roger right under their noses.

Now all the four friends wanted was a room and a drink at the next best tavern. Porthos was craving a nap so badly, he would have readily squeezed himself into a seaman's berth for it. The others probably felt the same.

"Porthos, are you coming?" Athos called from the tavern door with even more irritability than was customary for him at this late hour.

"Coming," Porthos straightened his bandana and put on his hat. Just when he wanted to move, a croaking noise stopped him. It came from above, echoing through the starry sky. Was that a parrot flapping through the air? Probably not. It was much rather a gull with a very sore throat... His exhaustion was starting to play tricks on him. Shrugging he followed his friends into the harbour tavern across the quay.

He was still dreaming of wine and a warm bed as a deafening flurry of shouts and cheering brought him to his senses. Upon entering the tavern, he had walked straight into a brawl.

Out of nowhere, a blade flashed towards him. Its shiny steel point halted right between his eyes. "Get out of my fight, landlubber, unless you fancy needing an eye patch!"

Porthos felt his instincts kick in. He wanted to push the attacker away, to get the sword out of his face. But he could not see anything beyond the arm holding the blade. He had to look down to see that it was not even a sword, but a short, arched cutlass, resting in the hand of a woman. She was at least two heads shorter than him, with jet black hair, emerald green eyes and golden brown skin. She wore a colourful dress, tattered and torn in several places. The ragged look added to her outlandish beauty. This was definitely not a serving wench.

"Mademoiselle, I do not mean to hurt you..." he began, still dumbfounded.

"Quiet," she hollered, "or I will have you keelhauled!"

Porthos smelled a powerful whiff of wine on her. This young thing was roaring drunk. She was teetering, struggling to hold her cutlass in a steady grip. The men around them were whistling and hooting, obviously making fun of her. He did not like it. Dead-set to save her from humilation, he grabbed her arm.

When he pulled her away from the malevolent crowd, he caught a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye. Suddenly, a wine bottle hit the top of her head. As the deep green glass exploded into a multitude of shards, she slumped sideways, rendered insensible by the fierce blow.

Quickly as lighting, Porthos leapt forward. By some miracle, he caught her, seconds before her head hit the grimy hardwood floor. He knelt, cradling the girl's motionless body in his lap.

At once, the crowded space around them became dead silent. The silence attracted the attention of Porthos's friends. Until now, his three comrades had kept to the bar at the back of the room, oblivious of the tumultuous uproar by the door. But not anymore.

When Athos saw what had happened, he pushed to the centre of the room. There was a murderous sparkle in his eye. Someone had just attacked a woman before he had even taken a sip of his drink. This was going to end in tears.

"Who did this?" He yelled at the top of his voice, his face contorting in fury. With his left arm, he held Aramis in check. He seemed ready to leap at the culprit's throat. Only an unscrupulous fool without a moral compass would inflict such an atrocity upon a lady. Their friend had no respect for such lowlives.

None of the other guests seemed ready to greet his demand with mutiny. Slowly the crowd parted, leaving one man standing on his own. Judging from his stained shirt and worn wool hat, he was probably a dock worker.

Once everyone had shuffled aside, Athos lowered his arm to unleash Aramis. Before the man could even move a muscle, Aramis rammed him back-first against the nearest wall.

"How dare you hurt a lady?" He snapped, shaking the man as though to make the truth fall out of him. Instead, something else landed at his feet. A small, golden heart locket clattered to the floor.

Aramis picked it up the gold necklace, dangling it closely in front of his face. "Well, let me guess, you took this from her."

Dumbfounded, the man nodded. It did not improve his predicament. Tightening his grip around the thief's throat, Aramis turned to Porthos. "Did you hear that, my friend? Stealing from a lady and then thinking he will get away with it... What do you think, does he get to keep his teeth?"

"Hmm," Porthos smirked. "Why not? How about we hang him up on a hook in the cold until he remembers his manners?"

"Oh that would be soo boring," Aramis retorted with a cold sneer. "Maybe Athos has a better idea?"

Athos did not. He had still not had a drink and had obviously seen enough of their shenanigans. "Just throw him out."

"Fine then," Aramis sighed. He dragged the thief to his feet, making for the door.

Just when he made to open it, D'Artagnan chimed in from across the tavern. "Wait. The door is too good for such a miscreant. We should defenestrate him."

Aramis chuckled. It was a great idea. "If you would be so kind..."

"With pleasure," D'Artagnan came over and unshuttered one of the front windows. With a flourish, he made room for Aramis who kicked the wrongdoer over the ledge. He went overboard, landing on his rear with a painful thud. None of them cared much. They left him there, barring the window behind him.

"Now," Aramis sighed, wiping his hands on his sash. "Time to look after our little mermaid."

He came over to Porthos who was still on the floor, cradling the young women's head in his lap. She had not come to again and her face was covered in unsavoury red cuts and splotches.

"Let's see," Aramis crouched over her, producing a small bottle of clear alcohol and a handkerchief from his coat. "It is all half bad."

Porthos furrowed his brow. "But her face is covered in blood..."

"What, all that?" Aramis gestured at the grapefruit red stains on her forehead. "That's just wine." Carefully, he wiped them away before he cleaned the small cuts on her round, gold brown cheeks. "But she will probably wake with a murderous headache..." he allowed with a gentle caress across the bump on top of her skull.

"What a waste of good wine," Athos commented as he rejoined them. At long last, someone had put a drink into his hand. He seemed less grumpy now.

At once the girl stirred. With a gasp, she opened her bright emerald eyes. They zeroed in on Porthos. "Ouch...", she murmured, still not quite sober. "I need some rum..."

"Better not, Mademoiselle," Porthos replied. "I think you have had enough for tonight."

She nodded but did not comprehend. "Fine, then we will have grog!"

Slightly amused, Porthos raised a brow at his friends. This feisty, cutlass-swinging young lady had become very droll after the blow on her head.

"There is none, I am afraid," Porthos stated. He beckoned for Aramis to give him the locket. "But we have found this."

She snatched it out of his palm. For someone so dazed, her reflexes were remarkably quick. "It's mine!" With an air of suspicion, she pressed it against her bosom, as though they would hornswaggle it from her again. Suddenly alert, she tried to sit up. But she was too week. Helplessly she tumbled back into Porthos again. "Who are you anyway?"

"I am Porthos," he caught her by the arm with one hand, keeping her safely in his grip. With the other he pointed out his friends. "These are Athos, Aramis and D'Artagnan. We are Musketeers, in the king's service. What about you, Mademoiselle...?"

"Solange. Daughter of the notorious Captain Pierre Carnage." She stirred, drawing closer to Porthos. Suddenly he felt her tug at his earring. "I thought you might be one of us..."

"Us...?" Porthos scrunched up his nose, pondering what she meant.

Aramis was much quicker to understand. "What, Porthos, a pirate? That could get interesting..."

Porthos rolled his eyes. He was tired and had spent his energy for teasing and squabbles for tonight. It was best to change the subject before D'Artagnan or Athos decided to add their five sou to the conversation. "What about that locket of yours? There must be a story behind it."

"Not a big one, really," Solange played with the necklace in her hand. "It belonged to my mother. She died on Tortuga, a long time ago."

At once Porthos regretted his nosy question. But there were more to be asked. In her sorry state, they had to be sure someone would care for her when they went back home. "What of your father?"

"Oh, he is out with the men, securing a new treasure. He should be back soon," Solange shrugged. "He asked me to hold the fort..."

She faltered. Something seemed to be wrong. Blanching, she clapped her hand over her mouth. "Oh goodness... the parrot. I was to tend it but it got away." She shuddered. "Father will throw me to the sharks for this..."

"Now now," Porthos gave her a hug. Soothingly, he rubbed her bony back. "The sharks won't eat you."

Aramis chose to help. He crouched before her, tousling a strand of her black hair. "I agree. With a pray as pretty as you, they would be too busy with their toothbrushes, polishing their fangs to make an impression."

"Besides, I heard a parrot outside not long ago," Porthos recalled. Perhaps it had not been a hoarse seagull after all.

"Really?" Solange jumped up, nearly hitting her poor head on a chair. "If you could return it to me, I would be forever grateful. Father spoke of gold, lately..."

Suddenly Athos's attention awoke. "Not the king's gold, by any chance?"

"Possibly. But, should you get back his beloved parrot, I will make sure you get a copious share," Solange offered.

"In this case, I think we have just the man for that among us," Aramis replied. Without another word all eyes travelled towards D'Artagnan.

The young man flinched under the sudden attention. Not quite sure how he had incurred it, he half-closed his eyes. "Why is everyone staring at me?"

"Well," Aramis observed. "You are a farm boy, surely you know how to catch a parrot."

D'Artagnan probably thought they were making fun of him. "We did not own parrots!"

"But chickens, surely? Not that much of a difference." Impatiently, Aramis nodded towards the door. "Now off you go!"

With a wordless scowl, D'Artagnan shuffled out of the tavern. Of course, they would not leave him alone with the task. Athos made to follow him, the beaker of wine still firmly in hand. Just before he went outside, he exchanged a meaningful glance with his remaining comrades. They were all thinking the same thing: No matter how unlikely, some rumors of pirate treasures rang true after all.

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 _These are the words from the challenge prompt: landlubber, grog, toothbrush, unscrupulous, cutlass, rum, parrot, keelhaul, mermaid, wench, audacious, jollyroger, loot, anchor, flag, Tortuga, hook, berth, waves, shark, compass, mutiny, overboard, eye patch, galleon, heart locket, earring, grapefruit, hornswaggle, woodworm, and bandana._


End file.
